Guardian Angel
by FredLives2007
Summary: This story takes place during the time of HBP, but it is not HBP compliant. What if Voldemort's mission for Draco had been a little bit different? Starts off Drama/Angst and eventually includes Romance. Rated M because who knows what will happen...
1. Wonderwall

**I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters. J.K. Rowling does.**

**This is the first of hopefully many chapters. Please rate and review! :)  
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Bright flames danced and crackled in the large fireplace at Malfoy Manner, flooding the huge drawing room with a flickering light. Sitting in his favorite leather armchair in front of the hearth, Draco Malfoy was staring into them, completely lost in thought. Tonight was the night that the Dark Lord would come and personally inform Draco of his secret assignment. The flames illuminated Draco's pale skin, making him stand out like a ghost in the darkness.

A chorus of chimes suddenly rang out into the silence as the antique grandfather clock against the nearest wall struck eleven, jarring Draco from his entrancement. He looked around him to see his mother, her platinum blonde hair glowing in the firelight, making her way briskly to his chair.

"He will be here any minute Draco dear," she said softly. There was a hint of anxiety in her voice that Draco found irritating. Why was she so hesitant to let him follow in his father's footsteps? He had wanted to prove his allegiance to the Dark Lord and to his family ever since he learned of his return over a year ago. But his mother had always been insistent on keeping him either at school or at home, sheltered from the action like some helpless infant. This time, however, the Dark Lord had insisted on bestowing this secret task onto Draco, and there was nothing she could do about it. Draco was thrilled for the chance to prove his worth and redeem the Malfoy name, tarnished by the fiasco at the Ministry a couple months earlier which had landed his father a cell in Azkaban.

Narcissa Malfoy put her arms around her son and leaned in to place a gentle kiss on his cheek, but Draco pulled away.

"I'm not a child, Mother," he growled, standing up from his armchair and straightening his robes. "I don't need your coddling and worrying over me anymore. The Dark Lord has a job for me to do, and I _will_ do it. I _will_ avenge Father and redeem our good name, mark my words."

Draco's mother clutched the back of the chair and bit her lip, her eyes glistening with hurt tears.

"Really Cissy, you must compose yourself," the dark figure of Bellatrix Lestrange glided out of the darkness and lightly gripped her nephew's shoulder with a slender, black-nailed hand. "Draco has been given a grand opportunity that any Death Eater would trade their wand for. Be proud! Your son will no doubt be performing a great service for the Dark Lord." She spoke his name almost reverently. "And Draco is right. All of Lucius's mistakes will be forgiven if he succeeds in the Dark Lord's plan."

At this Narcissa rounded on her sister with fire in her eyes. "Don't you _dare_ talk about my husband that way!" she hissed. "Lucius has demonstrated nothing but loyalty to the Dark Lord since his return. And he is no more to blame than any of the rest of you for your collective defeat at the hands of the Order of the Phoenix."

The corners of Bellatrix's mouth turned up in a crooked smile, exposing a few of her slowly yellowing teeth. The light from the fire intensified the contrast between her pale face and heavily lidded eyes and dark, twisted locks of hair. She looked almost vampiric.

"Don't be angry with me Cissy," she simpered in a falsely sweet voice that made Draco's skin crawl. "I'm on your side. I hate to see dishonor brought to my dear sister. But have faith in your son," she tightened her grip on Draco's shoulder. "Let him prove his worth to the Dark Lord, and everything will be set right again."

The two sisters exchanged one last look, the dark, haughty eyes of Bellatrix boring into Narcissa's pale blue ones, once again reflecting the overwhelming fear for her son she felt inside. At that moment the sound of a lofty musical score, as if played from a grand pipe organ, reverberated through the entire house, signaling that some witch or wizard had just breeched the front gates.

Bellatrix rushed to the front door, leaving the mother and son standing motionless like two specters in the dancing firelight. Excitement was coursing through Draco like he had never known before, and he felt his pounding heart rate steadily increase as his aunt opened the door and stepped aside to admit the cloaked figure of Lord Voldemort into their drawing room.

He walked swiftly through the large room with an air of such grace that it was hard to tell if his feet were even touching the floor and made his way directly to Draco and his mother with Bellatrix groveling in his wake, practically drooling in admiration. His snake-like eyes locked with Draco's and his lips spread into a wide, pointy-toothed smile.

"Good evening Draco, Narcissa," he addressed them in a cold, high-pitched voice, nodding slowly to each in turn. "Thank you for welcoming me into your home." Narcissa stiffened but managed a weak smile. Draco remained fixed to the floor. His fervor had been mounting to the point he thought he might burst, but now, with the darkest and most dangerous wizard the world had ever known standing mere feet from him, waves of fear and intimidation began to course through his body. Bellatrix was the one who spoke next.

"It is truly an honor to have your presence among us my Lord. I know that my sister and I would—

"I came here for a specific reason," Lord Voldemort interrupted, causing Bellatrix to fall at once into a reverent silence. "Draco, my boy," his eyes bored into Draco's once again. "I have a very important assignment for you."

At once, Draco's excitement began to return, bubbling in his chest. His mouth tightened and became a proud smirk as his father's master continued.

"My return to power has not gone at all as I had hoped. The recent incident at the ministry was particularly embarrassing for me. It caused me to doubt the abilities of several of my most trusted and highly regarded Death Eaters. This saddens me, Draco, for your father was among those whom I counted on the most." A heavy silence befell the room. Voldemort allowed a slow glance toward the stony form of Narcissa and the raptly attentive face of Bellatrix before shifting his gaze back to Draco.

"But I will not continue to hold a grudge against your father's mistakes forever. I see lots of promise in you, Draco, and I am willing to leave everything in the past if you can succeed where he could not."

Another tense silence settled in around them. Lord Voldemort continued to stare at Draco, and an expression of hunger befell his snake-like face.

"Give me your arm, my son."

Draco's breath hitched, and his eyes widened in wonder and amazement. He had definitely not been expecting this. Huddled close together on his side, his mother and aunt wore similar expressions of shock on their pale faces. Draco hesitated for a moment then stepped slowly forward, rolling up the right sleeve of his robes and exposing a thin, stark-white forearm.

Voldemort took the wrist that was extended to him in one of his waxen, spidery hands, and with the other, he held his wand aloft and pointed down at the bare skin. His face transformed into an evil sneer as he began to hiss and spit under his breath.

Without warning Draco's forearm seared in pain as though someone had branded him with a red-hot iron. A blood-curling scream escaped his lips and echoed throughout the manner. He tried in vain to rip his arm free, but Voldemort's vice-like grip remained firm. Looking down at his burning arm, Draco beheld his once white skin now blackened, twisting and contorting in a shapeless mass. After a few seconds, the pain subsided, leaving behind a dull throbbing, and he could make out the etching of a black skull amidst the once-again translucent skin. Entranced, he continued to watch as the mouth of the skull opened and out protruded the inky black form of a snake, slithering and coiling all the way down to his bony wrist.

Draco was shaking and covered in cold sweat. He looked up at Voldemort's face, fixed back into its cruel smile as his arm was finally realeased from its long-fingered trap. There was already a bruise welling up there where that cold hand had been. He could hear his mother softly whimpering off to his side and his aunt's hushed admonishments to silence her.

"Now, Draco," Voldemort began, his voice icy, "you belong to me."

Narcissa's body shuddered as one more silent sob escaped her. Her sister abandoned her side to stand closer to her master, her eyes wild with excitement.

"What I ask of you is very simple," he continued in a slow hiss, "your dear aunt Bellatrix has told me all about the meddlesome young witches and wizards who accompanied Potter to the ministry." At this, Bellatrix's mouth broke into a wide, manic smile. The deranged woman was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"We must make an example of them. So that everyone will know what happens to those who dare defy me." Voldemort paused, a murderous light in his eyes. "You mentioned, did you not, Bellatrix, that one of Potter's companions was a mudblood?"

"Yes my master!" Bellatrix could not contain her joy at this acknowledgement. "The mudblood is Granger! Hermione Granger! Disgusting little bitch, she is. Looks like—

"Yes… Miss Granger," Voldemort went on, speaking only to Draco. Then he added in a hiss so low it was almost a whisper, "I want you to kill her Draco."

Draco stood there, stunned and staring up at his new master with his heart pounding in his throat. So it was murder… the Dark Lord wanted him to commit murder. He had thought that might be it, and had even tried to mentally prepare himself for that possibility…. But he never thought it would be one of his classmates… in his year… who he regularly interacted with. It was true he had always been an enemy of Granger's, had always gone out of his way to make life difficult for her…. But he had never considered actually doing serious harm to the girl, and now he was supposed to _murder_ her….

The silence in the room was punctuated only by the manic cackling of Bellatrix and the steady crackling and popping of the fire. Draco and his mother were both lost for words, their faces blank and emotionless.

"Do not disappoint me Draco," the Dark Lord's voice was low and dangerous. "By the end of this term at Hogwarts, Hermione Granger must die."


	2. The Boxer

**Sorry this chapter is a little short, but it is ridiculously late, and I need to sleep! I promise the next one will be longer. Please rate and review **

It never ceased to amuse Hermione what a strange assortment of people crowded the platforms of King's Cross Station every first of September. Stuffy-looking men and women dressed in business attire peered confusedly over their newspapers and coffee cups at gaggles of excited children and adults hurrying along in some of the strangest outfits imaginable. Little boys and girls could be seen in anything from swimming costumes and football uniforms to footsy pajamas and raincoats. Their parents were, if anything, even more absurd looking. They wore such peculiar articles as track suites, golf sweaters, cow-hide vests, and kilts. There was even one woman in a full wedding dress, complete with veil and train, and a man with an inflatable horse inner tube around his waist. If their manner of dress were not bizarre enough, all of these families, and even some wearing decently normal clothes, pushed trolleys loaded with luggage that was quite odd indeed. There were heavy trunks piled upon heavier trunks, as if these people were about to embark on very long voyages, and here and there were items that one would hardly expect any traveler to find necessary to bring along with them. Here was a cauldron, there was a brass telescope, a pile of what appeared to be long robes was draped over one girl's trunk, and several teenagers carried highly polished brooms over their shoulders. Most of the parties had also brought some sort of animal. Dozens of owls and cats of all shapes, colors, and sizes rested in cages perched atop the luggage, although some of the girls preferred to cradle their cat in their arms, leaving a parent to struggle with the heavily stacked trolley. A couple of large toads could even be seen clamped in some children's hands.

Hermione shook her head and chuckled to herself, quietly observing this chaotic scene around her and knowing full well how utterly ridiculous it seemed to these muggle bystanders. She walked behind her two best friends Harry and Ron, who had just seen Luna Lovegood and were now having an animated discussion about whether she or Cho Chang was prettier ("I'm telling you mate, if she would just loose those stupid radish earrings…"). Fred and George marched along behind her, sporting a pair of dapper new suites with silk ties and dragon-skin blazers. They were joking and laughing amiably at the expense of some of the more elaborate attempts at muggle dress. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley brought up the rear. Compared to the flamboyant garments that surrounded him, Mr. Weasley looked almost normal in his chosen outfit consisting of a Christmas sweater, a pair of tweed trousers, bedroom slippers, and a couple of mismatched socks. Ginny Weasley was walking beside Hermione and had been listening intently to Harry and Ron's conversation.

"Can you believe those two?" she whispered to Hermione, her disapproving voice sounding remarkably like her mother's.

"Oh, you know boys," Hermione replied waving her hand dismissively, "all they care about is Quidditch and which girls became more attractive over the summer."

Ginny sighed and looked around at their classmates and their families as the Weasley party pulled up to the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten magically concealing the entrance to Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

"It's sad, isn't it?" she said without looking at Hermione.

Hermione knew what Ginny was referring to. They weren't talking about boys anymore. The atmosphere at King's Cross Station was not nearly as cheerful as it usually was on Departure Day. For one thing, there were noticeably fewer wizarding families to be seen, and those who were there were making their way briskly to the platform without so much as a "hello" to anyone else. The proud smiles of the parents had been replaced by anxious and worried looks, and they kept checking over their shoulders as if they expected to be attacked at any moment. It had been this way everywhere in the wizarding world all summer, ever since the ministry was finally forced to admit that He Who Must Not Be Named was at large once again.

"I know," she replied. "I keep thinking back to First Year. Everything was so new and exciting then. Everyone was so happy…. And now…"

"Now people are so bloody terrified, they've become paranoid that You Know Who's going to jump from behind every corner," Ginny finished her sentence for her.

"Yes, and that's exactly what he wants. He wants to keep people in the dark, living in fear and confusion. Our fear is what gives him power."

"I hate him! I hate all of them! You Know Who and those damned Death Eaters take everything that's good in the world and ruin it!"

"Shh!" Hermione cautioned. This was not the place to be attracting too much attention (more than anyone else anyway). "I know, I know. I hate them too," She spoke softly. "But the best thing we can do to fight them right now is not to let them destroy our spirits. We must have hope. Hope in Dumbledore. Hope in the Order. Hope in Harry…" Ginny began to smile at the mention of Harry's name. "As long as our hope is intact, they haven't won."

"But what if something else happens like at the Ministry? What if the Death Eaters come for us?" Ginny's voice was steady, but Hermione could see worry etched in her features.

"Any Death Eater who witnessed your reductor curse last spring is going to think twice about coming after you again, Ginny."

Ginny's smile became wider. "Since when did you become the motivational speaker?" she chuckled softly.

Hermione laughed and then replied, "I must be spending too much time around Harry."

"Come on girls get a move on! Everyone else has already gone through!" Mrs. Weasley was shooing them toward the solid barrier, urging them on before any muggles caught notice.

With one last smile to each other, the two girls grabbed hands and then rushed headlong at the barrier with their trolleys, passing through together to the other side.


	3. That's What You Get

The dense sea of nervous looking students and families parted to allow the passage of a certain pale, blonde Slytherin, wearing a new and expensive looking black suit tailored to fit him perfectly. Draco Malfoy was getting used to this kind of treatment. Now that the entire wizarding world knew of his father's dark allegiance, they regarded him with fear, assuming him to soon join his father in the ranks of the Death Eaters, doing the bidding of He Who Must Not Be Named. Draco smirked to himself. Little did they know that their fears and presumptions had already been realized, that the Slytherin prefect was already an official Death Eater in full service to the Dark Lord. A tingle shot up through his right forearm at this thought, and he reflexively tugged at his sleeve to cover more of his wrist.

The first of September had come much more quickly this year than Draco could ever remember. It was time for him to return to Hogwarts and carry out his dark mission. Not a day had gone by since the Dark Lord's visit that he did not ponder how he would ever manage to carry out the deed, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not envision himself inflicting murder on the Granger girl. The thought always left him feeling sick and strangely empty inside, at which time he would generally take to sulking in his room for hours at a time. His mother was a nervous wreck. She had been in such a state of hysterics that morning that she could not even accompany him to the station, so his aunt Bellatrix accompanied him instead, disguised as his mother with the aid of polyjuice potion, to see him off at the platform entrance. Bellatrix had been maddeningly enthusiastic about Draco's assignment over the past few weeks, giving him advice on how to get Granger alone and unprotected. She also made him practice the _Avada Kedavra_ over and over again on rats and any other small animal she could find until he was completely proficient at it.

Draco tried to clear his head and just concentrate on behaving the way the son of a dangerous Death Eater would be expected to. He made his way to the entrance of the nearest car through the clouds of steam billowing from the scarlet engine, an arrogant strut in his step and his facial features fixed firmly into the Malfoy mask. Once on the train, he received more of the same treatment that he had encountered outside. Younger students hurried out of the corridor into their compartments, only to press their timid faces against the window and stare as he walked briskly by. The older students he passed, if they were Slytherins, acknowledged him with a head nod or a smirk. If they were from the other houses, they met his silver gaze with either apprehensive looks or stony expressions, their jaws rigidly set and their fists clenched at their sides. Still, there were a few first years who looked on confusedly, wondering why this thin, platinum-haired teenager was eliciting such reactions. They would learn soon enough, Draco thought humorlessly as the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station.

He continued his march down the corridor of the train until he reached the very last compartment which was already occupied by his fellow Slytherins Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle.

"Draco!" Pansy exclaimed as he stepped through the sliding door. His face was immediately smothered in fruity-scented black hair as she dashed forward and trapped him in a tight embrace.

"Bloody hell woman!" Draco protested, "Can I at least put my trunk down before you maul me?"

She was unabashed as Draco pushed her off of him, giggling as she let herself fall gracefully back into her seat. The others snickered as Draco stowed his trunk into the overhead compartment and then slid into the empty seat next to Blaise.

"So how was summer with mummy Draco?" his dark-skinned friend scoffed, knowing from Draco's loud and frequent complaints over the years just how overbearing the woman could be.

"Hmpf, how do you think, Zabini? With Father gone, the bloody old bat wouldn't give me moment's piece, always following me around trying to mollycoddle me in one way or another. I expect she's curled up with one of my old socks weeping her eyes out right now."

Blaise laughed and shook his head while Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly on the other bench. Pansy rolled her heavily shadowed eyes with a coy smile playing on her dark lips.

At that moment the lunch trolley passed by, and the five of them loaded up on as many sweets as they could fit into their greedy arms, nearly depleting the old witches stock. They spent almost an hour happily munching on chocolate frogs, licorice wands, pumpkin pasties, and Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans (Crabbe choked on a dung-flavored bean, much to the delight of his fellow Slytherins). Their conversations drifted among several topics that they found amusing. They compared O.W.L. scores, during which Pansy insisted that the female administrator had deducted points only because she was jealous of her "elegant curvature," and they all tried to figure out if Crabbe and Goyle had scraped enough scores to officially be considered sixth years. They then proceeded to entertain themselves by voicing some of their suspected teacher relationships ("have you _seen_ the way Flitwick looks at McGonagall?"), reliving some of Ron Weasley's more deplorable quidditch performances (several verses of "Weasley Is Our King" followed this), and delivering more abuse to Draco's over-protective mother.

Draco was enjoying himself so much that, for a while, he forgot all about the Dark Lord and his sinister mission. This reverie was cut short, however, with a sharp rapping on the glass door to their compartment. Draco whipped his head around and felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach as his silver eyes took in the very familiar face of a brunette girl in Gryffindor robes glaring daggers at him and gesturing impatiently.

"What are _you_ doing here, Mudblood!" Pansy shrieked, her face skrewed up in disgust.

"_I_ should be the one asking _you_ that, Parkinson." Hermione retorted, pulling open the sliding glass door and crossing her arms over her chest. She kept her voice even, speaking sternly but not shouting, "Did you two forget that we have prefect duties? We have to patrol the corridors."

Pansy let out a loud mock groan, "Oh no no no! Draco, we've neglected our prefect duties!" she simpered sardonically.

Everyone else in the compartment laughed, except Draco. He could not take his eyes away from Granger. It felt as though he were seeing her for the first time. Her hair, once a bushy mess surrounding her head, was sleek and shiny, falling over her shoulders in elegant curls. Her skin was white and smooth. She had full, pink lips, and her eyes… Draco had never seen eyes so beautiful… so full of passion. What was wrong with him? This was Hermione Granger, the _muggle-born_, in front of him. And he was _Draco Bleeding Malfoy_, pureblood Death Eater. They were supposed to _hate_ each other. He had orders to _kill_her! And yet, here he was practically drooling over the girl.

At that moment, to Draco's horror, Granger shifted her scathing eyes away from the cackling form of Pansy and found Draco staring up at her like a love-drunk idiot. All the anger left her face for a brief moment and was replaced by one of pure bemusement.

Draco quickly ripped his gaze away before the others noticed this nonverbal exchange, leaving Granger in a flustered silence. He couldn't believe he had been so careless as to let himself be caught gawking like that…. He must be going mad! Working to arrange his features as best he could into what he hoped was an arrogant sneer, he forced himself to laugh along with the others.

Much of her gusto lost now, Granger turned back to Pansy and the others and attempted to continue her berating, stealing one last uncertain glance at Draco.

"A-and you're not even in your school robes! If Professor McGonagall knew about this, you would all be—

"Oh Merlin, Granger, will you _shut up_ and go away?" Pansy was becoming visibly irritated now. She stood up and moved to close the sliding door. Granger retreated a couple of steps.

"Look, you slimy gits have to pull your weight just like the rest of us," piped up the voice of Ron Weasley, bracing a freckled hand against the door to prevent Pansy from slamming it shut. Draco had been so distracted he had not even noticed he was there. Crabbe and Goyle stood up and took positions on either side of Pansy like two body guards, flexing their bulging muscles and looking rather intimidating. They each seemed to have grown about a foot over the summer. Blaise slyly slipped his hand into his wand pocket, sitting upright and alert.

"Shove off Weasel!" Pansy scoffed in his face. "Draco and I will handle the last cars. You and your mudblood girlfriend can go back to your section!"

"DON'T CALL HER THAT!"

A ringing silence fell immediately after this command was bellowed by not one, but two male voices. All eyes in the compartment were widened and shock and fixed on Draco, who suddenly became aware that he was standing up and breathing very heavily. What had he done? Had he really just said that? Had he really just _defended_her? Horrified, he pushed his way through the stunned knot of Slytherins and Gryffindors at the door and strode off down the corridor as quickly as he could, ignoring the six pairs of eyes boring holes into his back and trying hard to forget how lovely Grangers face looked with a rosy blush on her luminescent white cheeks.


	4. Sail

Draco marched forward, as fast as he could without breaking into a run, through carriage after carriage. He wasn't yet sure of his destination; he just had to get far away from Granger, and fast.

He still couldn't believe what had just happened, what he had just said. Why should he give a damn if someone calls Granger a mudblood? Had he not done so himself countless times? He couldn't actually have… _feelings_ for _her_…. No, that was unthinkable… impossible. He was a pure blood, from a noble and respected family, set far above her. She wasn't worthy of his affection or his attention. And as a servant of the Dark Lord, he was bound to do his bidding. That bidding was to kill Granger. And that's what he was going to do.

Several students pressed their faces to the glass of their compartments as he passed, their curiosities aroused at his urgency. Twice, he met with a student blocking his path in the corridor. One was a first year, and just one look of pure venom from his piercing silver eyes was enough to make the poor child cower against the wall so that Draco was able to pass without breaking his stride. The other, close to front of the train, was Dean Thomas, another muggle-born, closing the sliding door of a compartment. The dark Gryffindor looked up sharply at Draco's abrupt entrance into the carriage then crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"What're you doing Malfoy?" he asked bluntly.

"Out of the way, Thomas. I haven't got time to deal with the likes of you," Draco growled as he roughly checked Dean's shoulder with his own, forcing him to stagger backwards while Draco continued his progress.

"What the hell!" Dean protested angrily. "Fuck you, Slytherin prat!"

Draco stopped dead in his tracks, his outreached hand an inch away from the door to the next compartment. He could feel heat rising up the nape of his neck. He did not turn around but remained fixed in his position.

"What did you say to me… _Mudblood_?" He spoke clearly and evenly, though he could feel anger and hatred coursing through his veins. His voice rang throughout the carriage, and it echoed in the heavy silence that followed.

"You-" Dean spat. Draco spun around to see his face contorted in fury and his hand flying into his robes.

"Oh please!" Draco said sharply as he closed the distance between them in about one second. "_Please_ give me an excuse to curse you into a smoldering heap right here. Let everyone see for themselves the stinking filth that runs through the veins of people like you. You aren't worthy to call yourself a wizard. It's an insult to my heritage that I should be made to endure your presence, year after fucking year, burning my eyes at your sight and choking on the air you pollute with your foul stench!"

With a howl of rage, Dean whipped his wand violently out of his robes, and a flash of bright red light erupted from its tip. But Draco was too quick for him. He had already drawn his wand and cast a shield charm by the time Dean's curse was completed. It crackled as it absorbed the spell and reflected some of the force back at Dean, who was knocked back off of his feet, his face twisted in pain.

Draco smirked as he stowed his wand back in his suit. "Ten points from Gryffindor. You lot really should learn to control your tempers," he sighed nonchalantly. "It will get you into trouble someday, when the proper order is restored," and without another word he turned on his heel and strode out of the carriage, leaving Dean fuming on the floor.

That felt good, but it hadn't driven away his concerns over the Granger matter. He needed to clear his head.

He needed a cigarette.

Draco finally reached the front carriage and stepped outside. He stood on a small platform between the long line of train cars and the deafening scarlet engine billowing clouds of white steam. The bulk of the engine sheltered this space from the wind, leaving the air relatively calm. He reached into his inner coat pocket and extracted a thin, black rectangular box. Packed inside were two rows of clove cigarettes, which his father had had imported from wizarding markets of East Asia. It was illegal to possess these in the United Kingdom… for most people.

_Ah, the perks of being an aristocrat_, Draco thought, smiling to himself as he leaned back against the carriage wall, pushed up the removable top of the box with his thumb, and extracted a long, thin, black cigarette with his teeth. He stowed the box away, back in his inner coat pocket, and ignited the tip of his cigarette with a practiced flick of his wand. He took a long draught of the burning clove, its crackling a soothing sound to him. The taste was sweet as honey, yet it left a sharp tang on his tongue. Draco was beginning to feel relaxed and confident again, like all his cares and concerns were being burned away with his cigarette.

His pleasant reverie did not last long, for who else chose that very moment to stick their bushy head out of the compartment door than Hermione Granger. She took a furtive glance around and then stepped cautiously onto the platform where Draco was standing, still smoking his cigarette. For a moment they just stood there, looking at each other. Finally, Draco was the one to break the silence.

"Well? What do you want, Granger?" he asked.

"I… I just…" Hermione blushed. She took a deep breath before continuing. "I wanted to thank you for what you said back there… in the carriage." She was very red in the face, Draco noticed, and she looked quite uncomfortable.

"Don't mention it," he replied. "To anyone," he added more sternly, fixing her with his cold, grey, Malfoy stare. Hermione cast her eyes downward, and shuffled her feet awkwardly, making as though she were about to leave. Before she could reach a hand to the sliding door, Draco called out to her. "So where's the weasel? I would have expected to see him nipping at your heels everywhere you went." Hermione shot a cold stare at him.

"Well, not that it's any of your business," she retorted hotly, "but he chose to stay in the compartment we had picked out…. I told him I wanted to make one more round… just to check on things," she finished, a bit flustered. Draco smirked, his black cigarette burning in the corner of his mouth.

"And by 'check on things, ' you meant you wanted to come and find me, is that it Granger?" Draco asked in a silky, venomous voice. He blew a cloud of sweet-scented smoke at her when he'd finished speaking, promptly sending her into a small coughing fit.

"Do I need *_cough_* to remind you that *_cough_* cigarettes aren't allowed *_cough_* on school property?" she shot at him, her deep, brown eyes now shining with defiance.

"Ooo, now you've got me," Draco laughed mockingly. "What are you going to do, report me to Professor Snape? He'd deduct points from Gryffindor just for bothering him with something so trivial." Draco took one last drag before tossing his half-finished cigarette over the side railing. "There, happy?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed contemptuously. "You had better change into your school robes," she said with every inflection of prefect authority in her voice that she could muster. "As a prefect, you are the supreme example for the younger students, or have you forgotten?"

"Run back to Weasel, Granger," Draco sneered softly and dangerously, barely audible over the roar of the scarlet engine. "We both know our place in the grand order of things." Hermione's face adopted an extra shade of crimson, and a flame of anger flashed in her eyes, but she turned and marched back through the sliding door into the first car without another word. Draco remained fixed on the platform for another minute, trying once more to compose himself before going back in to his compartment and facing his fellow Slytherins. True, he had worn the practiced Malfoy mask well during this most recent encounter with Granger, but she still had an uncannily bewitching effect on his senses. He had to shake her out of his head somehow, or it would be impossible for him to complete the task the Dark Lord had assigned for him. With one last calming breath, he threw open the sliding door and made his way swiftly back to his compartment

When he arrived, his fellow Slytherins were waiting for him.

"Well, well, there he is," Blaize mused with a smirk. "Care to tell us what the bloody hell that little outburst was all about?" Draco nudged his way onto a spot between Crabbe and Goyle on the booth before answering, every eye in the cabin fixed unwavering on him.

"I told you," he began slowly, choosing his words very carefully, "I've been given an assignment directly from the Dark Lord himself, and I am working towards a very specific goal. You would all do well to stay out of my way… and provide assistance when needed." A heavy silence followed these words. Crabbe and Goyle looked stupidly at each other, and Pansy's eyes became so wide they seemed almost too big for her head. Blaize looked astonished.

"So it's true," he said. "You really have been visited by him haven't you? He's really given you a job." Draco nodded solemnly. From then on, everyone in that compartment looked to Draco with an intensified respect.

Draco looked around the compartment, his head held high, meeting every gaze in turn. For once Blaize was speechless, but not the others.

"What can I do to help you, Draco?" Crabbe asked slowly in his surprisingly soft voice, as if every word required a great deal of effort for him.

"And me?" joined in Goyle.

"Nothing for right now," Draco responded. He knew now that he had successfully regained his position of authority among his house-mates. "All I ask is that you be ready when I need you." Crabbe and Goyle both nodded fervently while Blaize and Pansy looked on in awe.

"It has something to do with the Granger girl, doesn't it? This assignment of yours," Pansy asked hopefully. "Ooh, she's going to get what's coming to her, and I hope I'm there when it happens." Pansy's heavily lidded eyes fixed on Draco in a look of sickening adoration. Draco resigned himself into thinking that now, at least his fellow Slytherins would assume that no matter how he acted towards Granger, it was all part of the Dark Lord's plan.

He set about dressing himself in his school robes after he had let pass what he deemed an appropriate time for idolization from the others in the compartment. Pansy took a rather lewd interest in watching Draco strip down to his knickers. Draco feigned disregard, but, if truth be told, he rather enjoyed her attentions and made sure she got a good view of the bulge in his nether-regions before covering himself once again.

After what seemed no time at all, the train was pulling into Hogsmead Station. Draco bade goodbye to his friends and performed his prefect duties to the letter. He traversed the corridors quickly and opened all the compartment doors. He escorted the first years from his section of the train to the great oaf Hagrid to be ferried across the lake (an altogether stupid and pointless tradition in his opinion). He even ushered the older students into the thestral-pulled carriages making their way up to the castle. Before long, he was in his own carriage, making the trek up the sloping lawns himself. The great towers of Hogwarts loomed ever nearer, and within those walls, Draco knew that he must meet his destiny. Try as he might, he could not force the face of a certain bushy-haired girl from his mind as his carriage came to a stop in front of the great double doors of the entrance hall.


End file.
